All Things Lovely
by Delphia
Summary: Hermione, happy and in love, finds an outlet for her thoughts on adoring masses, passion, and Harry Potter (H/Hr fluff).


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All Things Lovely

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A Harry Potter Fanfiction

by Delphia

characters and original concept © J.K. Rowling 

No infringement intended, no money made; these are not my characters.

Dear Diary, 

If anyone asked me what makes Harry Potter so exceptional, he or she wouldn't want to hear my answer. No, it's not that I don't think he's worthy of all this admiration; it's that to me he's so much more than what the public makes him out to be. He's a person who just happens to be, quite unwillingly, I might add, a hero, destined for greatness...a living, breathing person that feels things, good and bad, just the same as we do. And the fact is, I love him. I love him for who he is, not just what he stands for.

Yes, there are plenty of witches in the world that claim they love him, that he's meant for them and only them; he's their one and only soulmate. They don't even know him. Not _really_, and most certainly not like I do. I know his secrets, his daydreams, what thoughts run through his head while he lays in bed waiting for sleep.

I was present for his most embarrassing moment, an unfortunate incident involving a rogue necktie and the color blue, of which he will never speak again. I would say that I know him inside and out, but I even I cannot say that I know what the inside of his nose smells like on the second Saturday in September on leap years only. 

All right, I'll admit that wasn't funny, but it did prove a point. He's Harry Potter, he's a person, and his adoring masses do not own him. 

This entry was meant to be a testament to our love, and it most decidedly will not always be light and fluffy. With that said, hear this: I love him passionately. Desperately. I love him so much that sometimes it hurts. Only when he's gone, out to fight for the restoration of the light, and I have only hope to rely on that he will come back to me, do I feel it like that. Pain and worry, slow and steady, comes in waves flowing the center of my heart, all the way out to my fingertips. Only when I'm alone. But when he's with me...oh, Gods, then it's a different feeling altogether.

You know, I never would have imagined it would turn out like this. When I was eleven and first meeting this gangly, scared-looking boy with unsettling green eyes, all I could think of was, what could I possibly do with my self for seven whole years at a school for magic, of all things?

We became the best of friends: Ron, Harry, and I. Ron, the impatient redhead, willing to fight to the death to preserve honor. Myself, with the logic and the steadiness to keep it all together. And Harry, our best friend, a young wizard fighting against evil only because he was the one who could finish it all.

With all the help and time he needed from me, I would have been surprised if we hadn't fallen in love. He needs me just as much as I can't live without him. All I can say is that we match; we fit together and complement each other in every way possible. 

I love him for the man that he's grown to be. I love him for all that he, the Great Harry Potter, embodies, and that is hope and love, clean and pure, and strength, intelligence, kindness...my list goes on and on.

I have loved Harry for seven years. Six of those amazing years the strong bond of friendship held us together, and just in the past year have I discovered the depth and strength of our connection. 

When I first realised my feelings, I was surprised, to say the least. It was the beginning of fifth year, with Harry safely ensconced in Gryffindor Tower, under the protection of Professor Dumbledore. I began to wonder if my subconscious had its own reasons for my never-ending worry. Hogwarts was the safest place in the wizarding world for Harry, yet I was still almost sick with horrible thoughts of what might happen. 

These worries were not only over his physical well-being, and this later led me to begin acknowledging my newfound crush on one of my best friends.

Needless to say, my shock then was miniscule compared to what I felt one rainy day in November of my sixth year at Hogwarts. Harry and I were on our way back to the castle from Hagrid's hut, and Ron was inside hurriedly finishing extra credit homework for Trelawney. It began drizzling heavy drops of rain, and within minutes, the two of us were soaked and shivering beneath our cloaks. We ran for it, and once we were safely inside the doors of the entrance hall, Harry seized my hand. Turning, I looked up to meet his strangely bright eyes, and then, I felt his lips, slick with rainwater, pressed against my own. Returning the kiss immediately, I had no thoughts for once, except that he felt _good_ and that I definitely liked the feel of his cold hands cupping my face. That kiss was the first of many wondrous occasions to come.

I love it when he laughs. The look in his eyes can be of pure contentment, or extreme excitement, or uncontrolled hilarity. It's so endearing, the way he lets out and appreciative laugh for anything even remotely funny, taking in all the happiness he can get.

I don't know if he realizes how much love surrounds him.

I love it when he smiles in that way that seems reserved just for me, that genuine expression of happiness that hides nothing and never fails to make my heart contract. His nose crinkles up, the few freckles scattered there moving together, and his lips widen, inviting me to kiss them.

I love the feel of his skin, soft on his cheeks and nose, rough on his callused hands. I love the way he responds to my touch in turn. I love it when he holds my hand, for no reason other than the feel close.

I love the way the rest of the world seems to fade in and out when we're touching.

I love the way he holds me with a unspoken invitation to sit, cuddle, and be content.

I love the way he kisses me, sometimes slow and gentle, somehow conveying all that he can't put into words, and how I understand. I love the way he looks at me like I'm the most beautiful witch in the world. When I'm with him, I really feel like I am.

I love his eyes, pure green in color, always held wide open like he's trying to take in everything at once.. His messy, unkempt black-as-coal hair. His black eyelashes that are almost unfairly long and curled His tendency to blush and stutter when he's put on the spot. His bitten fingernails. His lips. His cute little nose. His oddly expressive ears. The way that I know he'll be rendered senseless when I drag my lips over that small spot of pale skin along his jaw. His "certain disregard for rules". The look on his face when he first wakes up. His knobby knees. 

His desire to _live._

But mostly, I just love him for being Harry: an amazing best friend, an indescribable lover, and the best man I've ever met. 

Love,

Hermione

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End file.
